


Chances Taken

by Vrankavrana



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Asexual Character, Daud is a terrible influence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, High Chaos Emily Kaldwin, In a manner of speaking, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Medium Chaos (Dishonored), Time Travel Fix-It, medium chaos Corvo, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10170281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrankavrana/pseuds/Vrankavrana
Summary: Corvo is trapped in the void as a consequence of Delilah's coup, watching as Emily slowly but surely tears her empire apart in sporadic fits of violence he is given the opportunity to change everything.Sent back to before everything began he finds himself working alongside one of the people he never thought he'd see again. He must find a way to to keep the people he loves alive, stop a plague, and sway the future off the path he so dearly wants to avoid.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic that I'm actually putting up here so hopefully I'll be able to manage something halfway decent :>  
> given that it is not beta read any and all mistakes are mine, if any are found don't hesitate to let me know  
> all comments are welcome.

He doesn’t know how long it has been since Delilah’s coup, but since then Corvo has had more than enough time to become intimately acquainted with the cool feeling of the void as it swirls around the material covering his body. He’s never been able to tell if the stone keeping him trapped and immobile lays on top of his skin or if it _is_ his skin, and for the sake of his sanity, or at least for what remains of it after all this time and two lost empires, he’s never bothered to ask.

  
At first he’d been devastated, he’d failed Emily just as he’d failed Jessamine before her and he could only wonder if his life was not so much more than some great cosmic joke being played at his expense. However, the isolation of the void save for the occasional passing of whales had been quick to temper his emotions, leaving something pathetic and wretched in their absence. Delilah had begun her visits then, and seeing her there just beyond his reach had almost been enough to pull himself together again. This was the one who had damned him a second time, this was the one who couldn’t have simply let and let live, who had destroyed everything he’d built just to see the world delivered into her hands. He’d heard her story; of course he had, given how fond she seemed of repeating it to him whenever she appeared at the edge of the platform upon which he stood. Corvo had never been sure whether or not what she said was truth, surely Jessamine would never act in such a way? But she had insisted for all that she couldn’t hear his protests, and The Outsider hadn’t answered his questions any more than he ever had, which was to say not at all.

  
He’s found that somewhere along the lines his anger and hatred instead turned to pity for this strange twisted woman, to the point that it is even with some muted curiosity that he wonders what became of her when her visits suddenly come to a stop. Some immeasurable amount of time passes before she appeared again, this time not as an all-powerful empress but frazzled in a way he couldn’t have imagined before. She looks angry. She looks frightened. That is how he learns that Emily is alive, his heart burns with a fierce joy and he cannot deny the pride he feels in knowing that she had escaped and is now working her way back to the throne. Cutting Delilah’s feet out from under her in a way that appeals so well to Corvo’s own twisted sense of poetic justice. He’d never wanted his daughter to follow in his footsteps so closely, but now he only looks back on their training with a visceral satisfaction and knows that she will be fine.

  
He takes the opportunity to ask The Outsider about her the next time he appears to Corvo, and though he cannot speak in his frozen state the deity always seems to be aware of what he wants to know. This, like much concerning The Outsider Corvo simply accepts and tries not to think on too deeply. It is how he learns that his daughter has been marked, that she had a choice and took it. At first he is shocked, following in his footsteps indeed. Then he is angry and terrified for her sake because he knows better than anyone the potential for violence those powers hold, how they can twist and distort you until you barely remember what it means to be yourself. He thinks of Granny Rags and her empty eyes and shrieking laughter, he thinks of Daud, he remembers Burrow’s face twisted in death.

  
There is nothing he can do but wait, a silent observer, one eye in the void and the other in the throne room of Delilah’s court, waiting for Emily as Delilah tears his city apart.

  
It is more luck than anything else that he is watching when Emily arrives, and he can only look on in horror as she cuts her way across the room leaving bodies and screams in her wake. Her left hand raised in a perpetual way that he recognizes as a habit that comes from the gestures associated with The Outsider’s magic. It is with frightened awe that he watches as she pulls herself around the room with an unnaturally fluid grace, cutting down more men and women with one stroke of her blade than she should ever be able to. She mixes with the shadows so well that he often loses sight of her entirely, only catching glimpses of a frayed coat and the light reflecting off her blade, _his blade_ , as she moves about the space. The sound Delilah makes when Emily finally guts her is not something that Corvo will forgot for a long time, the look on his daughter’s face as she watches the woman die, drinking in the sight of her foe falling and twitching at her feet will take longer still.

  
Emily finishes quickly, leaning down to whisper something Corvo cannot hear before she finishes Delilah with a relish, the void whispering in the back of his mind as the witch passes. Then Emily stands slowly, wiping her blade on the side of her coat, after a moment turns to look over at where his statue stands. Something has changed in her, as she walks over he sees it in the way her eyes still scan the room, the way the fingers on her left hand twitch and rub together, there is something feral in her eyes now, something that he cannot understand. He can only hope that whatever it is he can help her through it, he’d dare say that they’ve survived worse before and knowing their luck will do so again in the future. But Emily does not come close to him, instead stopping just inches from his frozen, outstretched fingers and looks at him with a blank expression. Her hand twitches at her side and for a moment she looks like the child he remembers but then the careful blankness is back and she goes preternaturally still, watching him with a slightly cocked head, she still hasn’t removed her mask. He’s never been scared of his daughter before but something in the way she doesn’t move, in the way she looks at him like he is some specimen on display behind the glass of the royal conservatory unsettles him in ways that he refuses to examine too closely.

  
Emily doesn’t move until her reverie is broken by the arrival of a squad of guards led by Jameson Curnow. He’s thinner and paler than Corvo remembers, his expression old and haggard despite his relatively young age. He’d been one of the few of Corvo’s agents to escape when Delilah had culled her way through his men, and was forced to take over what remained of the loyal guards after that. Corvo still shudders at the memory of seeing Geoff falling dead at the end of a witch’s blade, only one of many good men dead as a consequence of his failure to protect them. They’d done the executions in the throne room and Corvo had been unable to do anything to stop them from happening, he’d wondered at the time if Delilah had done that on purpose. Short of two other moments in his life he had never felt so helpless.

  
Emily turns back towards Jameson and he notices the way she straightens her spine and tries to stifle the twitching in her fingers, from the uncomfortable look on Jameson’s face she isn’t entirely successful. They exchange words on the other side of the room and Corvo wants to yell, he is here, he wants to help, he is sick of feeling useless, he is sick of this helplessness, he wants to be free again, he wants to touch Emily, to take her in his arms and never let go, to put the empire back again. Eventually Jameson finally turns from Emily and walks over to Corvo’s statue himself, looking up at it with those old haunted eyes that he seems to have picked up.

  
“Your majesty if you don’t mind my asking-” He pauses, words catching in his throat

  
“- what are you going to do about Corvo?” He asks and from the way his eyes flick to Emily’s marked hand Corvo cannot help but see the small spark of hope that lies there. He wants Corvo back, Corvo wants to be back, he wants to talk to Emily, he wants out of the stone on his skin. Emily glances over at Jameson out of the corner of her eye and responds,

  
“He’s safe there captain, he will stay where he is” Even encased in stone as he is Corvo feels as if someone has driven a dagger through his chest.

  
“In- In the throne room?” Jameson asks, and there is desperation in his voice, a hidden plea for at least a small return to normality in the return of his commanding officer. He is not a man who has had nearly a lifetime to acclimate to the idea of the arcane and the weight of it shows in the despondent and weary droop to his shoulders and a previously youthful face. Emily doesn’t respond, instead she moves closer and lays a gentle palm on the side of Corvo’s face. Even through the stone and the void he can feel the chill of her touch and it lingers even after she removes her hand.

  
“Yes in the throne room, I’d like to keep my father near me,” She says and Jameson is not at all successful in hiding his dismay. Somewhere in the void Corvo Attano screams.


	2. Prologue cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Corvo continues to have a bad time and new opportunities present themselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick updates because I already had a bunch of this beginning part planned out and so the first couple of chapters will come out relatively close together. 
> 
> This chapter is also slightly darker than the first one and so please be warned of that, it includes mild descriptions of violence and desecration of corpses.
> 
> Anyway, this is unbetad, any and all mistakes are mine.

Time passes, Emily stays true to her word and Corvo stays in the throne room. He is forced to watch in silence as Emily begins to push the city towards rebuilding and though he wants nothing more than to turn away and leave them to it, he cannot help the way his glance is constantly pulled back to the throne room in Dunwall, back to his daughter.

He watches as Emily holds court, looking closely in the hope that he might catch a glance of the person she had once been, to perhaps once again see the sparks of Jessamine which had once brought him such pride. He doesn’t. She is so very different from the girl he remembers, stalking about the court with a barely restrained predatory instinct, only occasionally remembering to restrain her now habitual twitch, her fingers never seem to stop moving these days.

She makes her court nervous, he can see it in the way that the nobles glance at each other and whisper when they think that Emily cannot see them. He can hear the whispers of discontent galvanize into something more from a group of aristocrats who often gather just off from where his statue stands.

“We cannot allow this to continue” one of them says, a weasel-like man who Corvo does not recognize but with whom the other men are quick to agree.

“Yes, if these last twenty years have proven anything it is that the Kaldwins are not fit to rule” another nods, and this one Corvo is surprised to realize he does recognize. It’s lord Ramsey, the first time he’d met the man had been at the Boyle party so long ago, and since then the man had done nothing to prove he was anything other than an aristocratic twit with more guile than sense.

The nobles continue their conversation and Corvo begins to feel a small burning anger come to life inside his chest, after all that Emily has been put through they are already planning another coup.  

He is not particularly surprised when he can’t seem to summon much beyond that quiet smoldering of anger at their words. It seems that his life has gotten to such a point where even news like this does so little to stir his ire when a mere few months ago he’d have had these men exiled for daring to speak in such a way. Once he might have even been worried for Emily’s sake but he knows that she has changed in such a way that this will be nothing to her, he’s not sure if he should feel proud or disgusted.

Their plot, at least what he learns of it is almost insultingly simple, and unsurprisingly, lacking in any sort of creativity. They plan to bribe a maid into stealing a key into Emily’s chambers before sending in a group of corrupt guards to end her life. Then blaming it on the same assassins who had taken her mother, with the Kaldwin line gone they would then be able to take the empire for themselves. Personally Corvo feels that they spend far too much time arguing about what pieces of the empire will go to whom than on their actual plot and that they are sealing their fate with every damning word they speak.

He’s insulted by the simplicity, and he can almost imagine the disgust that the Whalers themselves would feel knowing that their name would be slandered with what promised to be undoubtedly shoddy work. He may not approve of the assassins, may still wake with the sight of Daud’s red coat seared into the back of his mind, but at least they were _professionals_.

Needless to say he knows that it is only a matter of time before their plot is uncovered, one does not live through two attempts on one’s empire before they start to become attuned to those sorts of things. Emily is quick to prove this, and catches on long before their little plan  has a chance to truly germinate into action.

The night she learns of the plot she comes to sit at the feet of his statue in the quiet of the throne room, with moonlight streaming through the windows and the gentle quiet of the night he can almost imagine that things are as they may have once been. He’s surprised that he can feel the weight of her in a soft pressure against his legs. He doesn’t like it, but it has been so long since he’s been able to feel much of anything given his state that Corvo finds himself taking a quiet pleasure in the contact.

“It’s happening again” Emily is saying and Corvo realizes with a start that she had been talking for some time and he’d simply not realized, so caught up in the sense of touch. He cannot see Emily’s face but he hears a cold undercurrent colouring her voice and it sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’d think that after all this time they would have realized how foolish this is of them … mother would not have let them get away with it” He’s shocked at the mention of Jessamine, much more so at what he thinks his daughter is implying by her words. He wonders how much Emily remembers of Jessamine, if anything at all, and tries to ignore the lance of guilt he feels at the thought.

“Neither will I, I’ve been too lenient with them, I see that now” Corvo wants to reach down to her, he wants to pull Emily into his arms until she stops speaking this way, until she comes back from this precipice he can feel her wavering on. However, he cannot speak to her any more than he can reach down and touch her shoulder and so he is forced to simply watch as she lapses back into silence.

“They are going to suffer for this” she finally says, shifting against his legs and Corvo can hear the promise of blood in her voice. She leaves shortly after, her steps quiet on the marble floor and he is left reaching for her back as she walks away from him and out of the room.

The palace is quiet that night but Corvo cannot help the unease which pools at the bottom of his stomach as he watches the empty throne room. Something is happening out there, and he can’t help the anxiety that begins to weave through him at the thought of Emily and what she may be doing out beyond anyone’s purview.

He’s momentarily distracted when he spies a pair of rats in the corner of the room and watches in silent vigil as they circle each other, weary before something seems to snap and they fly at each other shrieking for blood.  It has been a long time since he’s seen rats in Dunwall, especially ones of that size and he is reminded of the stink of rotting flesh and weezing of the sick, of the quiet dripping of his cell in coldridge, he remembers the rush of power he felt the first time he called the vermin forth himself. Despite his best attempts he is unable to look away and instead watches as the animals tear themselves apart, one falling when a lucky blow gashes it across the throat, the other limping away before it too falls to the ground, dead. Their little corpses lie there and Corvo wonders how long it will take before anyone notices them, he wonders if anyone will clean them away at all. Ever since Emily made the decision to leave his statue in this space the palace staff have been weary of entering the room, much less spending enough time to clean it.

Sometime early in the morning, before the sun has risen Emily returns, slinking in through the window in a way that she looks far too comfortable with. She’s not wearing her mask and even from the other side of the room he can see the smile that pulls at her lips. There is also a body slung over her shoulder and it is only when she approaches that he sees that it is Ramsey, he is admittedly surprised when she places the noble down and he can see that he is only unconcious. There is a worrisome amount of blood covering her hands and coat but when he looks her over all he can see is that while Emily does seems to be favouring one side there are no wounds on her that could have resulted in such. He wonders who tried to stop Emily on her way to Ramsey and hopes that whatever she did to them she at least did it quickly.

Corvo slowly lifts his gaze from Ramsey and watches in weary curiosity as Emily steps closer to him as if sharing a secret.

“I’m sorry that I did the other ones myself-” she says,

“- but carrying fifteen bodies back would have taken all night” she continues,

“But I brought this one, he’s the leader and I figured you’d appreciate seeing when he dies, after him they’re all going to be gone, we’re going to be safe again” Her smile is bright when she says it, and Corvo can see a small splatter of blood on her upper cheek where her bandana failed to cover.

He mentally recoils from her and pushes himself as far as he can go without actually moving, shifting his point of view back to the void as he does so. For all that he cannot breath he feels as if some great pressure is pushing down on his chest, he feels restricted and so very claustrophobic, his vision is spinning and he doesn’t know where he is. In one moment he is in the throne room, then the void again, then the gazebo where he lost Jessamine, he swears he hears Delilah laughing at him somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Jessamine’s voice cry out as Daud stabs her again and again and again.

When his vision finally settles he sees the mess that has been made at his feet, Emily is crouched over Ramsey’s chest, which she has torn open, and in her hands she holds his heart, cradling it in her hands like it is something precious. She is more covered in filth than before, and the blood from Ramsey’s corpse is starting to make a small puddle where she stands though she seems to take no notice of it. She stays that way for a moment before letting out a beatific breath, she gently sets the heart on the pedestal near his feet like some kind of twisted offering before she finally stands up and makes her leave.

After that he stops watching Dunwall, he cannot bear to see what has become of Emily so instead he retreats to the void like a coward. Counting whales as they pass and trying to keep himself occupied in any way he can, he’s running through the security layout of Dunwall tower when he realizes he’s fallen back on the habits he made in Coldridge.

That does not stop Emily from talking to him, no, in fact ever since the night with Ramsey and the heart she has taken to speaking to Corvo far more often. Usually at night, but not always, nobody says anything though, they saw the mess that was there the day after Ramsey’s death and it is enough to keep them cowed.

Nobody comes near the Lord Protector’s statue anymore. Rumours had spread apparently, that hearing of the coup Corvo’s statue had come to life and killed all the conspirators, they’re not true, if Corvo could move at all he certainly wouldn’t have wasted the opportunity hunting down the likes of Ramsey. He wonders if any of them remember that he managed to get the throne back the first time without spilling a single drop of blood. Burrow’s was the exception of course, but he’d always been more rat than man and everyone in the city knows to kill rats.

Despite his best efforts he cannot seem to block the sound of Emily’s voice from his mind, and regardless of how much he cannot bear to see what has become of Dunwall and the empire besides, that voice continues to sound in the back of his mind. He can still feel when she sits at his feet, and speaks to a father who cannot answer.

In the brief moments when he can no longer keep himself from the throne room he watches quietly as the city seems to collapse around them. A fire burns down large swaths of the poorer districts, there is another attempt at a coup, plague returns to Dunwall and the people flee, there is another desperate attempt to remove Emily from her throne. Somehow through it all, she manages to keep her grip on power, white-knuckled though it is.

Corvo over time finds himself tiring of the constant cycle of violence and Emily’s all too common nightly visits and retreats further into the void. He can still hear her voice speaking in the back of his mind, though is is distant enough to blend with the ambiance of the void that he’s gotten so good at ignoring.

He’s shocked when the Outsider appears, floating just off the edge of the small island where his statue stands in the void. The deity hadn’t appeared to him since the time of Delilah’s coup and he is not sure exactly how long it has been since then. He supposes he should be angry; it was at least partially the Outsider’s fault that he lost the empire the first time not to mention the second; it was the Outsider who granted Emily her arcane powers. However, there is nothing he can do to the deity even if he wasn’t frozen and he knows the Outsider knows this as well so he doesn’t bother with the bitterness. He instead looks up at the deity with a placid glance.

“My dear Corvo, it really has been a long time” Corvo cannot help but agree.

“I confess Emily has held my attention longer than most-” the Outsider continues and Corvo doesn’t think he hides his involuntary flinch very well for all that he cannot move.

“She held out remarkably well, but the stench of blood can be so tempting to those denied it so long, most children who lived through what she did would have gone mad long before” The implied statement that Emily haslost her mind is remarkably loud for not having been spoken.

“What do you want?” Corvo projects at the Outsider though he’s not sure if the god can hear him or is just ignoring the question, instead deigning to remain floating just inside of Corvo’s peripheral vision. The quiet reminds him of the time right after Coldridge when he had been unable to break his self-imposed silence after six months of refusing to speak. It’s almost funny, he thinks, how many of the key moments in his life have left him caged and silenced and unable to help the people he loves.

“What would you do, I wonder, if you could do it all again?” the Outsider’s voice breaks Corvo’s train of thought and he can feel his attention snap back to the god as the implication behind his words begins to sink in.

“A second chance, right from the beginning, before all this began-”

“- a chance to fix all your mistakes, what would you give I wonder?”

“Anything” he responds without thinking but he knows that it is true, he’d do just about anything just to be able to leave his statue, the thought of being able to change anything besides that is almost too much to contemplate. Besides, there is little left to him here, Emily is lost to him and the rest of his life has been narrowed down to this, a statue partially in the void and partially in Dunwall, there is nothing for him to lose.

The Outsider turns to look at him and he feels as if he is being stared down by something far greater and older than himself, there is something predatory in those fathomless eyes. He knows there is probably more to this deal than he expects, knows that he may as well sell off his soul right now, but he also knows that this is not a chance that will come again.

“Anything” he repeats, and he sees the Outsider go preternaturally still. The void itself seems to be humming with energy or perhaps with anticipation, slowly the god turns on the spot to face Corvo. He recoils at the sight of the wide smile which splits the Outsider’s face,

“Then another chance you will have” Corvo’s vision seems to be cracking at the edges and he feels as if somebody is trying to force his body through a small tube. The whale song of the void building to a crescendo that blocks out even the sound of Emily’s voice in the back of his mind. As he slowly loses consciousness he swears that he hears a not entirely human voice whisper,

“And dear Corvo, _do make this interesting_ ” Before the darkness overtakes him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the prologue section is finished the next chapter will start us on the actual plot and also probably tone down on the darker parts, at least for the time being.  
> Dialogue continues to be difficult to write and the Outsider is a creepy bastard. 
> 
> Any and all comments welcome


	3. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Corvo wakes up, meets some people and makes some surprising discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly slow and more dedicated to introducing some of the shifts that occur around this time and the context that our intrepid hero is going to be working in.  
> For the sake of this story it is probably important to keep in mind that due to Corvo coming back the timeline is going to get somewhat confused but everything that Corvo doesn't end up changing will remain the same as it was in Canon  
> Anyways, this is unbetad and so any and all mistakes are mine.

Corvo wakes slowly, the sensation of his body returning to him gradually, from the rise and fall of his chest to the sensation of the ground beneath his fingers. He’s lying down and even over the surprise at feeling anything at all he’s utterly shocked at how good he feels. He’d been frozen for so long during which most of his sensations had been muted if not absent altogether. Even before that after Coldridge he’d never been completely able to shake off the chronic pain that had been purposefully enacted upon him. To suddenly be without it feels as if someone has loosened all of his tension at once. He can feel the heat of the sun and a warm breeze that gusts across exposed skin, the smell of salt permeates the air and he can hear the sound of the ocean somewhere nearby. The sheer calm of it leaves him stunned and he avoids moving or opening his eyes for fear of shattering the moment. It has been far too long since he’s had a chance to relax; even before Jessamine’s death his moments of respite had been few and far between and after, well, the less spoken of the years of anxiety, paranoia, and sleepless nights the better.

He wonders where the Outsider had the void spit him out, and while he may want to spend another moment relaxing where he lies, a lifetime of constant vigilance and the habits that come with it push him up and awake. He blinks his eyes against the light of the sun and brings up a hand to shade them. He’s been frozen for long enough that the natural movement of his own arm takes him by surprise and he stares down at it in shock and then in delight. Before he knows it a laugh is bubbling up his throat and he does nothing to stop it as it rings out, he does not remember ever feeling so freed in his life than he does in that moment when he stands and stretches for the first time in years.

The laughter bubbles up again and despite his best efforts to contain it he cannot stop the way it comes out tinged with hysteria. Everything he has avoided feeling suddenly seems to come crashing down onto him, his failure, Jessamine’s death, the loyalist’s betrayal, losing Emily, Delilah’s coup, losing Emily a third time, while he is now free the guilt seems to be doing its best to shatter him. In the void the numbness he’d felt after the initial shock and anger had worn off had stopped him from thinking too much on his particular failures but now there is nothing he can do to keep them at bay. The laughter devolves into sobs and gasping breaths, there are suddenly too many sensations and he burrows his face into his arms. Of course the Outsider couldn’t have made it easy for him, of course.  

He’s been given a second chance though, he may not know exactly where he is or what he is going to do but the thought helps him bring his breathing back under control. The shock and sensitivity is still seething under his skin and he knows that it is something that he’s going to have to address sooner or later, but for the time being he simply lets out a breath and heaves himself back to his feet. His balance is slightly off from what he remembers but really that could just be a result of not having moved for who knows how long.

He’s relieved to see that he is dressed, albeit simply, not that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the Outsider had dropped him in the middle of nowhere completely naked, but it does give him one less problem to worry about.

He’s surprised to see the lack of the Outsider’s mark on his left hand and rubs the empty spot nervously. He’s never been particularly over reliant on his powers, but their sudden absence makes him feel as if he is going out into the world unarmed and naked. Not entirely off the mark in a figurative or literal sense, he’s going to have to find some way to rearm himself if he plans to actually accomplish anything. Nonetheless outside of his general lack of supplies he’s actually in better condition than he has been in years, it’s an uplifting thought and now sure that all of his limbs are in the places they should be and that he doesn’t seem about to fall apart following his trip through the void he turns his attention to his surroundings.

He’s standing at the spot where the sand of the beach before him meets and gradually transforms into grass, leading up behind him into a tall hill. The ground is pleasantly soft beneath his bare feet; it’s too hot to be Gristol, which means that he must be in Serkonos, or perhaps Pandyssia? He hasn’t been back to his homeland since he left to serve the Kaldwins, and never seen Pandyssia, but he already knows which one he would rather find himself in.

He recognizes the trees that sway around him though, as a species unique to the east of Serkonos, his father had been fond of saying it was some of the highest quality wood available considering how common it was. He’s relieved, it’s not Dunwall, but at least it’s not Pandyssia either.

He turns his attention back to the landscape before him and though not entirely sure at first glance he swears he sees a path in the sand looking as if something had dragged itself out of the water and up the beach, the path staggers its way up the sand before eventually ending where he now stands. He knows that the Outsider, and presumably the Void as well are connected to the ocean so it makes sense considering where he came from, but he shivers at the thought nonetheless.

He climbs the hill, and is relieved when he finds a dusty road on the other side. There is no sign to point him the right way and it seems to stretch on indefinitely into either horizon so lacking any better ideas he picks a direction and starts walking. As he walks he finds that the sun is far warmer on his skin than it has been in years and he quickly discovers himself sweating despite his relatively slow pace, the light fabric of his clothing beginning to stick uncomfortably to his skin.

He still hasn’t met anyone and some small part in the back of his mind wonders if he will ever meet anyone at all. He remembers the tests the Outsider used to put him through during his time with the loyalists, and wonders if this is nothing more than another trial. Thoughts like those only feed into the seething anxiety beneath his skin so he simply shakes his head and pushes the thoughts away, surely he’ll come across something soon, even the Serkonan countryside cannot be completely empty.

The relief he feels when he spots a cart coming up behind him almost brings him to tears, it is horse pulled and quickly catches up to where he has stopped walking, slowing down until he is able to look up at the weathered man who sits behind the horse’s reins.

“Where are you headed boy?” he asks in Serkonan, and Corvo feels for a moment as if he must be remembering the word wrong because nobody has called him boy since before he entered the Blade Verbana. And even besides that the man cannot be that much older than he is, still, perhaps it is only a peculiarity of the locals and he is not about to lose his chance at a ride, or barring that directions because of something as stupid as his pride.

“Wherever the nearest town is,” he responds and tries not to allow his surprise to show on his face when a completely unexpected accent comes tumbling out of his mouth. Well, it turns out he didn’t make it through the Void completely unscathed after all, he briefly wonders what else has changed but is shaken from his musings when the man starts talking again, Corvo had forgotten he was there. Apparently his time as a statue has robbed him of all his social graces, how wonderful.

“Well, Belam is just a couple miles down this road, I could save you the trouble if you’re willing to bear a little company” He gestures over his shoulder and Corvo looks into the wagon. He’d originally assumed that the thing contained crates or foodstuffs and is surprised to see three young pairs of eyes reflect back at him instead. Apparently his surprise must show strongly enough that the old man laughs and quickly explains.

“Orphans-” he says, giving Corvo a knowing glance,

“I picked them up a couple towns back, the Abbey outpost in Belam arranges for young lads from the nearby villages without prospects to be brought in for training, they’re always looking for more overseers y’see, the Abbey here isn’t as strong as it would like so encourages the locals to get involved in other ways” seeing Crovo’s expression darken at the information he says,

“Besides, it’s not a bad life, keeps em off the street and out of trouble” He sends a look back at the boys in the cart and shrugs.

“I don’t suppose you would be headed there for the same reason?” Corvo, lacking a better explanation simply shrugs and does his best to look like he doesn’t want to answer any more questions as he climbs into the back of the cart. He has a mixed success; while the man doesn’t ask any more questions about Corvo he doesn’t stop talking either. However, after a short while of Corvo’s oppressive reticence the man finally falls quiet as well, a sort of vaguely companionable silence falling over the cart as it trundles along. It is interrupted again when one of the boys with whom Corvo is sitting asks,

“Where are you from? I’ve never heard anybody talk the way you do-”

“… and you look different from everybody here too” another adds,

“I’ve never met someone from outside Serkonos before, can you tell us about it?” Corvo is unsure how to respond, partially because he’s still not completely used to the idea that he can talk back at all, and partially because his thoughts all stumbled together at “you look different from everybody here” He’s Serkonan, he’s always been Serkonan, _too_ Serkonan as far as the Dunwall nobility had been concerned and yet here he is, in his homeland, being told that he doesn’t look local. It doesn’t help that he now has no idea what he looks like, it doesn’t help that an accent he’s never heard colours his speech every time he opens his mouth. His chest is starting to feel tight again and he turns all his attention to not falling apart on the back of the cart.

“Well?” his imminent meltdown is interrupted by impatient curiosity and the boy’s request finally processes.

“You want to hear about the other isles?”

“Yes!” All three of the children seem excited at the prospect and Corvo figures that this is probably a better way to pass the time than avoiding questions from the driver or reflecting on his circumstances so he racks his memories for a story that isn’t too revelatory and launches into an abridged tale of the time he traveled to Whitecliff during his training as Lord Protector. He’s in a cart full of future Overseers and a driver who believes him to be aiming to join the Abbey himself, he figures it’s safe enough to share. More importantly there is no mention of Kaldwins, assassins, or heretical gods and if that is the only thing keeping him from bursting into tears in front of a suddenly attentive audience then that is his business and his alone.

            The rest of the journey continues in that fashion, with Crovo sharing short stories from his various travels around the isles, the driver occasionally adding in his own tidbits of trivia. Apparently the older man had spent some time in Morley and takes pleasure in going to great lengths to describe just how terrible he’d found the weather.

It is, for all intents and purposes the most benign sort of conversation that Corvo can imagine and he finds himself enjoying it. Emily had always liked his stories when she’d still been young enough to want those sorts of things and it appears that the talent hasn’t left him. By the time they arrive at their destination the children are already asking him if he’ll stay at the outpost with them, they want to hear more stories and they claim he’d make an excellent overseer as well. He absentmindedly rubs the back of his left hand and surprises himself when he lets out a snort of laughter, he’s met the Outsider, gained the god’s favour and wielded magic he never could have imagined, has spent years in the Void itself, yet here he is being told he’d make an excellent Overseer.

“They’re not wrong you know,” says the old man as he reins the cart to a stop and helps them disembark,

“I’ve met men more than twice your age who were not even half as traveled, the Abbey could use more worldly men” Corvo worries again for his appearance, not necessarily out of vanity but more because he has no idea how to interpret the words being directed his way. He’s always been aware of the way his appearance affected the manner in which people saw him, even using it to his advantage on occasion. Apparently it is another weapon the Outsider has seen fit to strip from his arsenal. He rubs the back of his left hand.

“I’ll think about it,” He finally says, settling for a non-answer. The man doesn’t seem too worried and he simply shrugs,

“I hope you do uh-” He looks at Corvo expectantly,

“Corvo”

“Corvo.” The man nods and claps him once on the shoulder before turning to corral the children down a slightly busy street as they wave goodbye. Apparently Corvo had forgotten to introduce himself, he shakes his head and turns away from the cart. Now that he’s in a larger town he’ll have an opportunity to find out where exactly the Outsider dropped him, and how he can make his way back to Dunwall.

He finds a bar easily enough, and now that the day is beginning to wind down it is beginning to fill with people in search of dinner. His own stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten all day and Corvo reflects that hunger is one of the few things he had not missed during his time as a statue. Unfortunately he has no money and nothing to pawn except for the signet ring that lies on a thin leather cord around his neck. He tucks it back under his shirt; given the choice he’d rather go hungry.

Still, there are other ways to collect coin and Corvo stretches his fingers, deftly lifting three coin pouches before he’s decided that he has enough. He’d never really had a predilection for petty theft before, sure he’d stolen when he’d had to back in Karnaka before he’d grown old enough to look for proper work, but it was really after Coldridge that the skill had become a habit. Pierro had always been willing to turn whatever he’d brought back into funds and Emily had enjoyed some of the small pieces of jewelry and pretty feathers he’d brought back for her. This had changed once they returned to the Tower and Emily had once given him an angry talking to when she was sixteen about pickpocketing the nobility after she’d found the hidden collection of stolen pouches, wires and other small objects he’d stashed in his rooms.

“Just because your name means crow doesn’t mean you have to act like one!” She’d yelled, and he remembers the event with a fond sort of bitterness. He wishes he could have brought Emily with him, leaving her in what remained of her empire had hurt more than he could have imagined, he wonders if she is alright. While she may have changed from the child he knew he would still never wish any harm to befall her, while as a statue he had at least been able to watch her now he can only wonder.

There is no point in drowning himself in maudlin thoughts so instead he steps further inside and looks for a place to sit. He finds an empty table at the back of the room and having a wall against his back makes him feel much better about this entire arrangement. One of the servants bustles over to ask him what he would like and he simply responds with whatever is the evening’s special, his attention is too drawn by the crowd of people around him to pay much attention to anything else, it has been so long since he’s seen this many people together without any sort of paranoia souring the atmosphere that he settles into his seat and simply drinks it in.

His food is warm and spicy when it arrives, some kind of sausage in sauce and a soup that as far as he can tell contains no sort of fish, practically a miracle after years in Girstol, as well as warm bread. Not necessarily anything overly classy but it fills his stomach and any sort of food is a more than welcome after the emptiness of the Void. He wolfs it down with an enthusiasm that surprises even himself. After that organizing a room is easy enough, even if it does cost the rest of his illicitly collected funds and he staggers up the stairs, exhaustion suddenly making itself known.

The room is on the third floor, a single large space with a bed and chest of drawers on one side and a desk on the other. The thing which draws his attention the most is a small mirror on the wall beside the drawers and he feels a ball of ice settle in the pit of his stomach. From what he’d been able to conclude with his fingers all of his features are still more or less in the right places, and he’s been aware of the fact that his hair is longer as it keeps falling forward into his face but other than that he has not the slightest what he actually looks like. Yet now that he has the opportunity to find out he finds himself hesitating, it could be anyone who looks back at him from the mirror and he doesn’t know how he would take it, it has been an exhausting enough day.

He knows however, that if he doesn't confront this now it will only fester so with a deep breath he steels himself and steps forward, turning to meet his own eyes in the mirror.

He’s younger than he used to be, but this is no great surprise his ride with the man and Abbey initiates had proven that much, though the extent of it surprises him somewhat. He can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, his hair is long again, darker than he remembers true black rather than the dark brown it had been before, hanging down around his jaw in a shaggy heap. To his great relief his other features are also similar enough to the way he remembers them being, his nose seems to be slightly larger, and the shape of his eyes had changed somewhat, his skin is of a slightly different tone though still not pale. His general bearing seems _sharper_ somehow, even beneath the youth still visible on this new face of his. He looks like he imagines a brother would look like if he had a brother, or perhaps a relative of some sort, similar enough that the changes he does see are obvious and yet not catastrophic enough to cause him too much trouble.

He lets out a breath, running his fingers through his hair, he’s fairly certain that he’s shorter than he should be.

With the question of his appearance resolved the exhaustion from earlier returns, sapping the strength from his bones, eyes drooping he throws himself fully clothed onto the bed and sinks his face into the pillow. It feels incredible. He can feel his awareness begin to fade almost instantly and he only has a moment to think of the possibility that he will wake up to find himself back in his statue but by that point he’s far enough asleep that it makes no difference.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Corvo's appearance change will be revealed soon so for now everyone can be just as much in the dark as our protagonist. (also the lack of void powers)  
> While I am aware that it has been stated that the isles all share the same language I think that is personally a little bit ridiculous and so for the sake of this story we're going to be working under the assumption that while the empire has a single unified language, each isle maintains it's own dialects especially in the more rural areas where interaction with people from other isles is minimal.  
> As far as Corvo goes I've been writing him as constantly putting off confronting the effects that his stay in the void and Emily's collapse have had on him but that is also something that is certainly going to be addressed as the story progresses.  
> Corvo remains confused and dialogue continues to be difficult to write.
> 
> Any and all comments welcome.


	4. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who was expecting the brief detour into a domestic!overseer!au because it sure as heck wasn't the author

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slow chapter, contains the gratuitous use of ocs and our secondary protagonist finally makes his debut.  
> Further questions are raised and our intrepid hero remains mired in confusion.  
> This is where our timeline is going to start spiralling off into true au territory so hold onto your hats.  
> Anyways, this is unbetad and so any and all mistakes are mine.

            Corvo is amazingly comfortable when he wakes up, he can hear a quiet bustle of people around him and he wants nothing more than to retreat back into the hazy warmth of sleep. Unfortunately restfulness seems to flee from him and as he wakes up, gaining awareness he finds himself not yet willing to open his eyes.

            The noise continues, and isn’t that curious? He’s fairly certain that the bar shouldn’t be this busy so early in the morning, and even if it were; his rented room is on the third floor. He shouldn’t be able to hear people moving around him to this extent.

            The realisation causes his eyes to fly open and he shoots up, tangling in the sheets of his bed as he does. He’s in a large space filled with flat, low lying bunks, occupied by a number of other people who lie in various states of health. Some of them move about he space and exchange quiet words, others lie in quiet misery. He’s fairly certain that he wasn’t sick when he went to sleep last night and he scans the room looking for clues to his location. Someone coughs and rolls over with a groan. He hopes the Outsider hasn’t decided to drop him in new locations every time he goes to sleep; it’s an unpleasant thought. His eyes quickly dart down and he sees that his left hand is still bare, he’s admittedly surprised, he would have expected the Outsider to pull him into the void at the first opportunity but it appears the god is biding his time. Scowling, he turns his attention back to the room.

A door at the far side opens with a quiet creek and a large woman dressed in pale gray enters a moment later. Corvo’s glare zeroes in on her; she glances about the room and is about to leave, apparently satisfied, when her gaze lands on him and she physically starts.

“You’re awake!” She bustles over, making her way to the side of his bed far faster than he would have expected for a woman of her size. The other people in the room letting her pass with little care. She smiles,

“You’ve been asleep for three days!-” now it is Corvo’s turn to stare,

“Three days?” he manages to croak out, his throat is very dry.

“Yes, Jani-

“who?”

-the bar owner-”

“-She brought you in, said you rented a room for the night and then when she went to see if you’d left she found you still asleep! Couldn’t wake you for the Void” Corvo blinks at the influx of information but can’t seem to wrap his head around three days.

“Where am I?” he finally manages to ask, above all the other questions he feels knocking around.

“The Abbey” she responds while leaning over him as if checking for signs of illness

“or, well, whatever passes for the Abbey this far out in the middle of nowhere” she winks at him as if to share an inside joke and Corvo wishes she would stop moving. Her energy is giving him a headache.

“Originally we weren’t going to keep you here this long but old Seb recognized you, said he’d met you on his way in, that you’d been on your way to join with us” The old man with the cart. Corvo wants to groan but instead he only hesitantly nods, it’s not like he can’t always escape later, the small Abbey outpost he’d seen while exploring the town would hardly be the hardest place he’s escaped from. But the idea of being stuck away from Dunwall any longer than he has to be chafes at him, It seems Overseers are going to continue to be a hindrance regardless of whether he is marked or not. The woman smiles again, and Corvo really wishes she would stop doing that, he’s unused enough to social interaction without having an exuberant nurse fuss over his non-existent ills.

He’s in the process of explaining that he is very much all right when the door opens again, this time admitting a fully garbed Overseer. The man is tall and walks across the room at an even pace, his boots clicking authoritatively with every step. The room goes quiet and the nurse steps around to face him as he approaches, brows furrowed as she looks at him pointedly.

“Brother Marcus, is there something you need?” She doesn’t look unsettled per se but Corvo can tell that she is not happy to have the man here. His fists clench on top of the blanket and he wishes he at least had a knife, if not that he’d trade a good many things for his old pistol. He’s decent enough at hand to hand combat when he needs to be, but he’s not certain his center of gravity is in the same place he remembers and he’d rather not have to try his luck.

“I was informed our guest had woken up, figured it was better to be safe than sorry-” the silver mask turns to glare at Corvo, “- you never know what kind of rabble finds itself at the side of the road these days” Corvo has to try harder than he should to keep his face blank, it’s been a long time since anybody felt comfortable insulting him, especially to his face. Being Lord Protector on top of the rumours of his skills and activities as an assassin had been more than enough to curb most tongues. But he isn’t the Lord Protector here; he isn’t even sure if he even legally counts as an adult, he supposes in the face of that he really shouldn’t be surprised that the Overseer is unimpressed. It doesn’t stop it from biting though; he’s _hardly_ a child.

“Is he well?” the question is directed at the nurse and she lets out a frustrated breath,

“From what I can see, yes, but you can’t tell me you plan to take him to the other initiates already? He just woke up; what if there is another instance where he cannot be woken? He should stay here for at least another day to make sure whatever he had has passed” She looks like she is gearing up for a fight with her hands on her hips and a thunderous expression on her face. Despite her blustering the man doesn’t seem affected in the least, instead he nods at Corvo,

“He looks well, anybody walking down the hall could hear him telling you he was well, he doesn’t look like he’s about to collapse, there is little point having him take up a bunk he doesn’t need” Corvo suddenly wants nothing more than to stay in the bed if only to deny the man what he wants. He pauses when he realizes what he’s feeling, and forces himself to relax, he’s not a child and he won’t give the Overseer the pleasure of seeing him act like one.

“It’s alright, I’ll go” two heads swing around to look at him, the nurse looks as if she is about to start speaking again and she does not look happy so Corvo continues before she has the chance, “I’m feeling fine, if anything happens or if I do not feel well I will come back” The nurse looks between him and the Overseer as if she is about to start arguing again but then sighs in defeat,

“If you feel anything wrong at all, anything, I want you back here immediately, no bravado you understand?” Corvo stares back at her flatly; he’s had years of experience and long months in prison to disabuse him of his pride in seeking medical aide but he supposes an apparent sixteen year old wouldn’t so he simply nods.

It’s clear the nurse isn’t happy but she hands him a clean set of clothes in which he dresses quickly, he’s quietly amused at the abbey motifs that line them and the comfortable way they sit on his heretical shoulders. He doesn’t have any boots but he didn’t have any before either and these clothes are much more solidly built than what he was wearing before, the shirt and trousers are of a far more solid material and one far more familiar to Corvo. Still, he’s pleased nonetheless when he is handed his old clothes and the signet ring as he leaves, quickly throwing the leather cord over his head and tucking it beneath his new shirt.

He follows the Overseer out of the room and through the halls, neither of them bothering to start conversation, Corvo instead choosing to observe the people around them. Outside of the sick room the outpost is surprisingly busy, fully garbed Overseers and others closer to his own apparent age and dress bustling about on one task or another. In its own way it reminds him almost painfully of Dunwall tower and after a while he turns his attention away. The Overseer stops him with a hand on his shoulder at a corner and hails one of the boys who was walking by as Corvo tries surreptitiously to get the man’s hand off of him.

“Alfys” the boy is about Corvo’s age, taller than he is and stockily built, with scruffy brown hair combed back in an attempt at orderliness, and an otherwise unassuming face,

“Yes Brother Marcus?” he looks at Corvo with open curiosity and raises an eyebrow at his bare feet. Corvo tells himself he isn’t self-consciousness and tries not to shuffle uncomfortably.

“This one was just brought in, get him some shoes and things as well as a place to sleep. He’ll follow your rotation until Morris can work him in properly” with that the Overseer simply turns and walks away at the same measured pace he’s held since Corvo first saw him and he can’t stop the slightly incredulous look that manifests on his face. He’s fairly certain the _Outsider_ is less awkwardly stiff then that man. Alfys follows his line of sight and laughs,

“Don’t mind him too much, Brother Marcus can be difficult to stomach but he’s one of the best men here, I am Alfys Marin, and you are?” He hold out a hand to Corvo and he reaches out to grasp it,

“Corvo”

“Just Corvo?” He goes to say his last name but finds nothing where the memory should be. He feels that this should worry him but there is a fuzzing in his ears and a strange sense that where he comes from they don’t have last names the same way they do here. It’s deeply unsettling and for a moment he feels slightly faint but then he shakes his head and the fog clears, he’ll have to look back into his supposed last name later.

“Just Corvo” he tells Alfys and he can tell the other boy is surprised; surely it’s not that strange a thing to lack a last name? But the look passes quickly enough that Corvo can’t be sure it was ever there at all.

            “Well Just Corvo, follow me, we’ll get you a change of clothes and whatnot then find a place for you to bunk after, have you ever been to Belam before?” unlike his superior Alfys seems more than happy to fill the silence, and as they walk the halls of the outpost Corvo is informed all about the town and the outpost that occupies it.

Apparently they are the largest Abbey outpost in the area short of the base in Cullero, so most Abbey brothers and sisters travelling to and from the city tend to pass through town. It’s also where many initiates from the area spend at least the first part of their training and education before they travel to one of the larger congregations in the cities; he’s told the current class that he is going to join is fairly small and that there has been trouble recruiting recently.

He learns that Alfys’s parents are farmers and he was sent to the Abbey when he was old enough to look after himself so his parents would be better to provide for his five younger siblings. In general it is all information he could live without and he’s thanking the void when they finally find the storeroom they are looking for.

“Ah, here we are, you wouldn’t happen to know your measurements would you?” Corvo shrugs and Alfys gestures to his shirt, “well that seems to fit well enough, there should be a mark on the inner seam” Corvo pulls his shirt out from his trousers and examines the bottom edge until he finds the numbers he is looking for. They rummage around the room until he has another set of shirt and trousers and then spend another short while trying to find a pair of boots that fit.

By the time Corvo has everything he needs his arms are piled with suspenders, clothes, and a heavier coat “for the colder months”. His stomach, grossly empty after three days asleep is making its unhappiness known. Luckily for his dignity Alfys seems to be having similar feelings and he eyes Corvo,

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to wait to find a room and look for food instead?” Corvo nods enthusiastically and adjusts the packages in his arms as he follows Alfys from the room. Corvo finds himself in a canteen, men sitting around the tables and engaged in quiet conversation, hounds resting at their feet and masks off. It’s surprisingly relaxed and Corvo finds it difficult to match his experience with the zealots of the Abbey with the sight of regular men trying to sneak food down to their dogs without catching the eye of their comrades.

Alfys leads him around and through a swinging set of doors into the kitchen. Suddenly they are enveloped in the strong smell of cooking food, spices from a stew bubbling on an oven nearby, and fresh bread mingling in a way that leaves Corvo’s mouth watering.

“Alfys! What are you doing here, you had your food rotation an hour ago where were you?” a cook looks at them from where he is chopping onion and pins Alfys with a glare.

“I was helping Corvo, he’s new and we needed to get his things organized” the cook’s eyes rove over to Corvo and he studies him for a moment before turning back to the onions. If he doesn’t look overly impressed then Corvo is at least happy he isn’t barefoot this time.

“Well, I suppose you’ll want enough to feed two of you then?, of course you do, you’d probably take enough to feed four all for yourself if you could” Alfys looks slightly abashed but grins at the man nonetheless.

“So there is something left over?” The cook pauses to look up at them,

“If you’re willing to wait a minute you can eat warm with the men outside” is his response and then he shoos Alfys out of the kitchen, taking Corvo with him. He’s still smiling and with an arm he tugs Corvo over to a table slightly off from the main space, leaving it open for the other Overseers who are quickly filling the room. Corvo places his things on the bench beside him and stretches, his back cracking as he does so. When he settles back down he see Alfys looking at him and he raises an eyebrow in question.

“So Corvo, I’ve told you all about myself, this place, and all, what about you?, you haven’t told me much other than your name and that is hardly anything at all” Corvo wishes he could stand up and walk away, this isn’t what he planned on happening at all when he agreed to flee the Void and the wreck left of his daughter and her empire. For a moment he entertains the idea of being honest, of telling Alfys about Emily, about his life, about the Void, the Outsider, and all the strange circumstances that led him to be sitting in an Abbey outpost in rural Serkonos.

He decides against it in the end because despite his tenuous grasp on sanity he has no wish to be detained on grounds of madness, especially not here.

“You could at least tell me where you’re from? I’ve never heard an accent like yours before” Corvo wants to sink into his seat, _he’s_ not even sure what to make of the accent and he hasn’t had the chance to come up with a passable explanation much less a lie.

It appears he’s just going to need to make it up as he goes along,

“My parents travelled a great deal when I was younger, so I picked up their accent, I was born-” his voice stutters when he tries to say Serkonos, it doesn’t fit well in his mouth, “-at sea, so nowhere in particular” for a moment he’s worried at its briefness but Alfys nods as if fitting a puzzle together, apparently satisfied.

It’s a solid story and he’s not above admitting that he’s proud of it given the circumstances. It covers his accent, his experiences on the other isles _and_ makes him untraceable if anyone thinks to go looking for doctors and records for whatever reason they will be sorely disappointed. The fact that he couldn’t admit to his true homeland unsettles him, almost as much as the shift in his appearance does but he chases the thought away, if he’s not careful then he will lose whatever control he’s still holding onto and he needs to get back to Dunwall and make sure all is well before that can happen.

“So you’ve been to the other isles then? I must admit I’m jealous, I’ve only ever read about them in books” Alfys is leaning on the table, his eyes bright and inquisitive, and Corvo cannot stop the small smile that twitches on the edge of his mouth, he’s never been able to resist.

“What would you like to know?”

They spend the rest of the meal trading stories, Corvo giving short anecdotes and trivia about the isles in exchange for funny tales and local gossip,

“They say Nurse Libby and Jani have been secretly together for years, and the only reason that Lib manages to keep her job is because no one else has ever managed to stand the position for so long”

“In Tyvia their prisons have no walls and you are always invited to leave at any time, the bears and wolves serve as better guard than the men ever could”

“what were you doing in a Tyvian prison?”

“I’m sure you would love to know”

“Choffer, you can’t just say things like that and not explain”

The announcement that food is ready and the subsequent rush of booted feet to try and be the first in line interrupts their exchange. Thankfully their table is near the front and they manage to get their food without having to wait too long.

It tastes as good as it smells and they talk no more as they each tuck into the stew, rich and spicy and vaguely Morlish in origin it warms Corvo from the inside and by the time he is licking the last of the sauce from his fingers a warm haze has settled over him. He can see the sun setting through the windows and at the moment he feels not only relaxed but safe as well, it’s strange, sitting here surrounded by the Abbey that the paranoia which has fueled his actions for years seems distant. Absently he thinks that Jessamine would like the food, the atmosphere, and it’s as if a pail of cold water has been doused over his insides.

The air seems colder somehow and the light nowhere near as warm and he sighs, running a hand through is hair. Alfys seems to notice the shift in mood but thankfully doesn’t comment, quickly finishing his own meal and standing up.

“I think we’ve doddled long enough, lets find you a place to rest before Lib hunts me down for endangering her patients” Corvo nods and the two of them leave the room, then the building. Making their way through an open courtyard hidden behind the main building. Alfys leads him to another building, which appears to be the barracks, proven true when they enter and Corvo sees several halls leading off from the main area, lined with doors on both sides and inhabited by boys as old as Alfys to as young as the children the man he’d hitched a ride with had been bringing in. No one seems to be any older than him and Alfys though, with the exception of the bored looking clerk sitting behind a desk and watching the room with a warily over the edge of his spectacles. The older Overseers must bunk in a separate building.

“Hey, Morris are there any free rooms?” Alfys asks as they approach the desk, the clerk, Morris apparently, looks at Alfys and then lets his gaze slide over to Corvo, taking in the packages in his arms and slightly lost bearing and shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not, Seb brought in some new ones and they took up the last free ones, besides he’s too old for those halls anyway” Alfys sighs and shoots Corvo an apologetic glance.

“Are there any free bunks in our hall?” Corvo shifts, adjusting the bundle in his arms, to shift one of the buckles on the suspenders that had been digging into his chest. Morris mumbles something to himself and looks down at the ledger that sits on the desk in front of him, flipping through pages and running his finger down the list of paired names. His finger comes to a stop at the last name on the list, indecipherable to Corvo and Morris hums under his breath, a pinched look coming over his face.

“There’s only the one at the end of the hall and well…” he meets Alfys’s eyes over the edge of glasses and even Alfys’s expression sours slightly but he quickly forces it neutral again. Corvo can feel his eyes narrow; there is something he is not being told.

“Are you sure it’s the only one?” Morris nods, “all the others are taken, sorry lad but you’ll just have to make do” This is directed at Corvo and unsure how to reply he only shrugs,

“I’m sure I’ll manage” He gets a pitying look in response and fights to resist rolling his eyes.

As they turn away and walk down the hall Alfys fills the silence this time seemingly more out of a nervous tendency to ramble than for actual conversation.

“Rotations are organized by halls so you’ll actually always going to be with me now, even after you don’t need my help to find your way around. There are only one and a half halls for our group, but because of the split they give us separate rotations, it’s lucky we ended up together, I hope you’re okay with that because-” He cuts off when they reach the door and rubs his hands together in a nervous tick.

“Listen Corvo, this one has driven off every bunkmate they tried to put in with him, but you’re not really going to have much of a choice so please try not to cause no trouble alright?” Alfys’s nerves are starting to rub off on Corvo and though he knows intellectually that he is more than qualified to deal with whoever stands behind the door he cannot help but feel the giddy rush of adrenaline start to seep through, readying him for a fight.

Apparently unable to put it off any longer Alfys knocks sharply on the door and when a voice answers from inside he pushes open the door and steps inside.

“You’re getting a new bunkmate, this is Corvo” He steps forward and stops because he knows that face.

Even decades younger and lacking its distinctive scar he’d know that face anywhere; it’s been a burned into his mind ever since his life shattered the first time fifteen years ago.

It’s _Daud_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it finally happened, about time. Daud was originally going to show up in the last chapter but then things got in the way and this probably fit better into the shape of the story.  
> I like to think that in that one mission in the DLC he had more than a passing idea of how to act the overseer and figured that at one point or another it would make sense that his work would stick him in the Abbey.  
> Shoutout to the folks who saw Corvo's overseer adventures coming.  
> The next chapter(s) will start to pick up again into the darker side of things for anyone looking forward to that.  
> Dialogue remains difficult to write and the Outsider is probably very amused.
> 
> Any and all comments welcome.


	5. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Overseer adventures continue and Corvo gets into a fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say that this fic is not abandoned and will in fact continue to be updated, hopefully in a slightly more regular way now that I've finished school for the year.   
> This is the chapter that is going to actually kick off the plot, especially now that Daud has finally made an appearance, he will not be leaving any time soon.   
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but it was either this or have one extremely long chapter, the second half will be uploaded soonish as a result of already being partly written.   
> Anyways, this is unbetad and so any and all mistakes are mine.

            “This,” Corvo thinks, “must be some kind of sick joke” However, regardless of how long the three of them stand staring awkwardly at each other, Daud doesn’t disappear and Corvo begins to think he can practically hear the susurrus laughter of the void ringing in his ears.

“The left bunk is mine” what at first seems a non sequitur manages to snap Corvo out of his shock long enough to realize that Daud is referring to which bunk is open to him but despite his best attempts to respond language seems strangely difficult in coming. Alfys, sensing that something is amiss quickly comes in to try and remedy the situation,

“Corvo just got here so don’t go causing him any grief, Morris has already given you more chances than you rightly deserve” In spite of his shock Corvo is surprised at how warmed he feels that Alfys thought to defend him, outside of Geoff, Samuel, and maybe a couple of his most senior agents he hadn’t had many people he would ever think to count as friends, especially after the Loyalists. There had always been Emily of course, but their relationship, good as it had been was always overshadowed by Jessamine and the gaping holes that she had left behind. Not to mention that he could have hardly taken his ten-year-old daughter as a confidant.

He cannot help but think now, with the benefit of hindsight, that perhaps one traumatized man still reeling from a series of terrible betrayals was hardly the best figure to help a young girl with her own demons. Perhaps that distance is what led Emily to-

He cuts the thought, this is hardly the time or place to revisit his failures as a parent. Neither Daud or Alfys seem to have noticed Corvo’s miniature crisis, and he finds himself being herded towards the right bunk by Alfys, who leans in and whispers something quietly about finding him if there is ever any trouble, though Corvo isn’t paying enough attention to make out the exact words. He nods and Alfys finally leaves, looking worried and shooting him a glance as he closes the door leaving him and Daud alone.

A profoundly uncomfortable silence descends upon them and Corvo busies himself packing his few belongings into the chest seated at the end of his bunk. However that cannot distract him for very long and he is deeply, uncomfortably aware of Daud’s curious gaze on the back of his neck. He wonders in a moment of utter lunacy if perhaps he ought to throw himself out of the nearest window and go running right back to the sea and the Void, at the moment even its infernal ambiance would be preferable to the choking silence he now endures.

He finally stands up, unable to keep at his distraction for any longer, he has never made a habit of shying from confrontations and he is not about to start now.

“I’m Daud” Is enough to entirely throw him off again and he scowls in confusion, of course he knows who Daud is, there is hardly a soul in the empire unaware of the infamous Knife of Dunwall, and he doesn’t appreciate being mocked by the man who ruined his life.

He opens his mouth to say as much when, somewhat belatedly, it hits Corvo that Daud doesn’t look much older than he does at the moment. Mixed with the clearly perturbed look that the other is sending him can only mean that Daud isn’t likely yet to have made his name as a hired killer, that Daud probably hasn’t even so much as seen Dunwall’s shores much less shed its blood, that Daud hasn’t yet _killed Jessamine_.

He falls heavily onto his bunk, barely feeling it; the enormity of the revelation enough to leave him utterly desensitized. Daud is still staring at him strangely, looking Corvo thinks, as if at the moment he would rather be anywhere else.

“Do I… do I need to get Morris?” Daud sounds genuinely worried and Corvo actually chuckles. Daud worrying about anything is strange enough to think about, Daud worrying about him is almost comical.

“No, no, I’ve just had a long day” Corvo waves a hand and Daud shoots him a look clearly telling him how believable he finds the excuse, but simply shrugs and turns to his own bed, quickly losing interest.

“Don’t snore” is all he says before stripping off his shirt in a single movement and putting out the single lamp hung by the door, throwing the room into darkness, the sun having set sometime during his arrival.

Mechanically Corvo strips off his own outer layers and climbs under the covers, quickly finding it impossible fall asleep. He stares at the ceiling above him, plans and images of Dunwall and Jessamine spiraling in his mind. He’d wanted to get to Dunwall as quickly as possible in order to prevent her death at Daud’s hand, but now Daud is sleeping on the other side of the room and if the rest of the world has truly rewound the way he thinks it has then Jessamine is still little more than a child.

Turning his head he sees the indistinct shape of the assassin lying in his own bunk. It occurs to him that he could put a stop to it all right now. It wouldn’t be difficult to end Daud before he even has a chance to consider ending Jessamine’s life, to remove even the remotest possibility of a whaler’s blade ever touching her skin.

It’s tempting, so very tempting and though he knows it is not there Corvo feels the echo of the Outsider’s mark shivering up from his left hand, pushing him to act. He tamps it down. He may not be one to avoid confrontation but he has also never made a habit of making decisions without thinking them through. During his time with the Loyalists he’d made a point to avoid killing anyone, proving both to them and to himself that he was hardly the murderer they had tried to turn him into. He’d killed Burrows in the end; unable to stomach the thought of the wretch taking any more breaths while the consequences of his handiwork tore the empire apart.

But he had spared Daud. Given him his life after fighting him to a standstill. Admittedly his motives had been less than merciful, the man had clearly been destroying himself with guilt and letting him go to stew in his regrets was a much crueler fate than any death Corvo could have dealt him. It doesn’t change that he did it though. Even when the wounds inflicted had still been so fresh, when he suspects that if not for his need to see Emily safe he would have probably lost his mind in the ruins of the flooded district and never been heard from again. He let Daud go. Can he really turn his back on those actions now, years after the event and decades before it is even set to take place?

It’s a choice he realizes, paths to take that will lead to different futures, to kill Daud or not to kill him, changing the future to suit his will. Chagrined, he realizes it sounds like something very much like what the Outsider would say. He hopes wherever he is the black-eyed bastard is enjoying himself and falls asleep fully expecting to wake in the Void.

When he wakes up not having so much as dreamed of a whale Corvo tells himself he is not disappointed and tries to believe it. Early morning light is streaming through the single window illuminating the room in all its austerity. He sees Daud is already up, sitting hunched over on his bunk dressed and doing up his boots. Corvo blinks at him blearily, of course the bastard would be a morning person, he’s not sure why he expected anything different.

He contents himself as he forces his limbs to move with the knowledge that at least this body probably hasn’t carried over his coffee dependency from his previous life. Compared to those mornings when he could barely tell his right hand from his left he is positively radiant with morning cheer.  

Corvo is just navigating the straps of the overalls that came with his initiate’s outfit when there is a knock at the door. Daud looks up at it and answers sharply,

“What”

“Are you decent?” Corvo recognizes Alfys’ voice and grunts, the door swinging open to reveal the other initiate already dressed and shooting Daud a glare that the other returns flatly.

“You ready to go to breakfast?” He asks, looking at Corvo with a much warmer look on his face. Tightening his belt around the last of his vestments Corvo nods and follows Alfys out of the room, leaving Daud behind them rolling his eyes.

Breakfast is an uneventful affair and Corvo takes the opportunity to study the other initiates who slowly join them as the outpost begins to wake up. There are about two dozen of them all together, all within three years of age and seeing the way they all sit together in the canteen reminds him of when he first joined the Grand Guard, though of course at that time his uniform had been red and not black he finds himself relaxing into the familiarity. They chatter inanely about what local gossip they’ve heard and the lessons they apparently have to take. One side of the room becoming embroiled in a shockingly passionate theological argument about whether or not reading penny dreadfuls breaks the strictures. Corvo listens to the argument with some interest until someone begins to quote the litany of Whitecliff after which point he spends the rest of the meal dutiful eating as much as he can while Alfys explains what the day will hold.

To his surprise there is a surprising level of academia expected of them, apparently they are expected to attend to basic lessons in history and mathematics, as well as a session dedicated to studying theology whatever that may entail. Corvo already despairing, he’s never been particularly good at sitting and memorizing, much preferring to be on his feet getting things done than wasting away behind a desk. It is only when Alfys mentions that they will also be expected to practice in the yard with martial weapons that Corvo’s interest is piqued. He knows he is shorter than he should be but simultaneously does not feel as unbalanced as he used to, and the chance to stretch his sword arm without the risk of being skewered is one that he finds himself cautiously looking forward to.

Corvo lifts his gaze from his meal to see Daud enter the room and as if a spell has been cast the formerly bustling conversation quiets to a hush, everyone looking down at their plates and trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Corvo lifts a brow at the strange reaction and meets Daud’s eyes as he retrieves his breakfast. Nobody moves until Daud has sat down at a table on his own and it is only then that conversation cautiously begins to resume.

Corvo turns to Alfys and gestures with his head towards where Daud is sitting in a silent question. For a moment the boy looks like he is not going to answer until he seems to come to a decision and lets out a sigh, putting his fork down on his plate and bringing his hands together.

“You’re going to have to share a room with him so I only suppose it’s fair that you know” he begins, shooting a glance over Corvo’s shoulder to make sure that nobody is listening in on them. “He’s only been here for a couple of months-” he says, “-at first everything was fine but then he got into some kind of fight with his bunkmate at the time, it ended when he broke both the other guy’s arms-” Corvo blinks in surprise, “-that wasn’t the end though, it seems every person who bunks with him ends up being invalidated out, the last one was so bad he had to be sent to hospital in Cullero” now that he has begun speaking Alfys seems unable to stop. “Not only that but he’s a right devil on the practice yard, anyone who so much as looks at him funny ends up with a bloody nose if not worse, I swear by all the spirits that if I didn’t know better I’d swear he’s touched by the Outsider”

Corvo isn’t sure what to say in response, he’d been aware that Daud by nature had to be violent given his chosen field of work, but the fact that even at such a young age he’s already causing such trouble makes something of the former guardsman in him twitch. He flexes the fingers on his left hand and shoots a sharp grin at the worried look Alfys is sending him,

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” he says, and tries not to enjoy the way that Alfys’ worried look only seems to deepen.

The lessons go exactly as Corvo expected, and he has the feeling that even if he didn’t already know most of the information they are being taught from his time as Lord Protector he would still have found it mind numbingly boring. He passes the time spinning his pen on the tips of his fingers and flexing his blank left hand thinking on the void. At first Alfys tries elbowing him into paying attention but he eventually gives up, leaving Corvo to his thoughts.

Sitting near the back of the room Corvo has a clear view of most the other boys as they either write or watch the teacher with varying degrees of boredom. Daud is seated on the other side of the room, appearing as bored as Corvo feels. He looks different without the scar, of course he’s also nearly thirty years younger than when Corvo last saw him but he can’t quite put his finger on what exactly he’s supposed to make of the situation.

He’s under no illusion that the Outsider sent him to this specific time period for a reason, reverted to a younger age though not the right one. If he remembers correctly he’d been some three years younger than Daud the first time around. He’d been sent back apparently as a second chance to fix the way things had gone in his life, and for that reason he can’t be clear on why the Outsider hadn’t simply sent him back to some earlier point in his own life, certainly that would have been easier than dropping him in these circumstances. Not to mention the change in his voice and physical appearance, a question that he doesn’t even begin to feel ready in addressing. The sheer strangeness of it leaving him baffled at every turn.

He’d hoped to have some answers from the Outsider the next time he was pulled into the void, however as time passes he has become more and more convinced that it simply is not going to happen. He never considered himself overly devoted to the deity, especially for one marked with his favour. He’d never sought out shrines except for when he had stumbled upon them nor had he made a habit of leaving out charms and offerings the way he’d seen Granny Rags do. He thinks wryly, that perhaps it is his lack of faith that has had the Outsider abandon him right after showing him such a monumental favour.

Groaning, he brings up a hand to rub at his temples where a headache is beginning to form and looks up fast enough to catch Daud looking at him with open curiosity. They stare at each other from across the room, Corvo carful to keep his expression blank. Daud looks away first when the teacher calls him to answer some fact about the Abbey in Morley and Corvo turns away. He doesn’t know what to make of the young assassin and frankly the less he has to deal with Daud, the less he has to _think_ about Daud the better, he has more important mysteries to hold his attention after all.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passes in a blur of lessons about which Corvo doesn’t care and catching Daud looking at him more and more suspiciously every time it happens. By the time they are finally led out into the courtyard where they will be allowed to practice with weapons Corvo feels as if he is vibrating with energy. He’s never liked sitting still for long periods of time, a preference only enforced by the unfortunate time he spent as sentient statuary.

Someone has dragged out a box of practice blades and Corvo easily recognizes the distinctive bulk of an Overseer’s blade in the shapes within. As they are given leave to pick one out and begin their stretches Corvo hefts his in hand and can’t stop the way his lips quirk upwards. He’s always felt more natural when he has a weapon at hand and even though he misses the elegance and sharp grace of his old blade he finds himself feeling charitable to the dulled piece of metal he now holds.

He chafes at being instructed on how to properly stretch but forces himself to have patience, using the time to adjust to his center of gravity, spinning the sword in one hand to get a feel for the weight. Some more basic movements follow, and falling into the rote of muscle memory Corvo watches the other initiates.

They all show signs of having some experience, likely due to the lessons they are now taking, though some are clearly more comfortable with the weapon than others. Alfys holds his sword like a butchers knife, and Corvo can’t help but cringe slightly as he watches the rough way in which the other boy swings it, clearly he’s used to his larger build making up for any mistakes in his technique. He wonders briefly if he should point it out before reminding himself that he’s not training guards here and that in any matter of fact why should he care how well the future Overseers know their way around a sword. If anything the worse they are in the future the easier Corvo’s life will be when he inevitably finds himself back on the wrong side of the Abbey.

In contrast to many of the others Daud holds his sword like he knows what it is and what he wants to do with it. His movements solid and economical though lacking in any kind of flourish, Corvo can’t say he’s surprised, though he is slightly astonished to see echoes, or perhaps precursors? To some of the movements Daud made during their fight in the flooded district. He’d never put much thought into where the other learned how to fight, Corvo himself having been largely self-taught, he can’t help but appreciate the irony in the fact that the Knife of Dunwall of all people learned how to fight like an Overseer.

He wiles away half an hour on basic movements until the instructor raises and arm to gain their attention and announces that they are each to find a partner and engage in a light spar. He emphasizes that he doesn’t want to have to send anyone to the nurse and further expands that any little bastard caught using excessive force is going to be very sorry.

Alfys immediately seeks out Corvo with a friendly smile and the two of them square off. After exchanging some light testing blows Alfys brings down his sword in a heavy slash that Corvo easily sidesteps before ducking to the side, bringing his sword up as he does. He slashes out but misses when Alfys proves to be more agile than he’d expected and they continue to exchange light blows as Corvo avoids getting caught into a contest of strength. While Alfys’ technique might not be the cleanest Corvo has no illusion about who would win if they locked blades. Finally tired of the stalemate Corvo pulls back and settles for a moment, making it look as if he has paused to breathe, leaving himself open in the process. Alfys, unwilling to give up the opportunity darts forward and swings, overextending himself as Corvo sweeps down, kicking the other boy’s feet out from under him.

Alfys lands with a thud and he groans, winded, before rolling over and pushing himself to his feet.

“What kind of sea traders did you say your parents were again?” he asks, rolling his shoulder and looking at Corvo with a new respect that wasn’t there before. “At this rate you are going to make the rest of us look bad”

“You’d do better if you didn’t take pointless risks” Corvo finds himself responding, and the rest of the lesson passes in easy camaraderie. It is nothing like training with Emily was, he thinks, but perhaps it is not so bad in its own way.

            After a while, the instructor calls the end of the lesson, telling them to finish their final exchanges and then clean up. As Corvo turns back towards Alfys, expecting to finish his last spar with the boy a hand falls onto his shoulder. He flinches out from underneath the unexpected the touch and twists around to find Daud standing behind him holding a sword. He freezes.

            Daud hefts his sword and asks if Corvo wants to have the last exchange with him. Alfys is saying something but Corvo doesn’t hear him as he follows the assassin to a space that has cleared for them. He’s not sure what he expects when Daud turns and then darts at him with quick steps and strikes, but he reacts the way he’s trained himself to ever since he first picked up a knife on Karnaka’s streets.

            He blocks and darts around Daud’s blade pushing the other back with a flurry of aggressive slashes. His surroundings have faded and suddenly he is back in the ruins of the flooded district, half-delirious with poison and fighting for more than his life. For absolution, for Jessamine, for everything that Daud has robbed him of.

            They crash into the open halls surrounding the courtyard, having moved as Corvo all but chases after Daud, hungry for a chance to set things right. His left hand tingling, he can practically feel the magic he doesn’t have singing as the fight escalates. A clerk is shoved aside as Daud uses them as a shield and papers go scattering around the hall, someone is yelling and Daud throws a vase resting on the low wall at Corvo, drawing his attention as he lifts an arm to bat it aside. In the moment of distraction Daud darts forward and slams the dulled edged of his sword against Corvo’s arm. He strangles a shout of pain, the dulled edge probably hasn’t broken anything, but it adds a new dimension to the blows they make at each other. Gritting his teeth Corvo redoubles his efforts, now practically dancing around Daud, not allowing a single chance for the other to respond in kind.

            As he continues to force Daud backwards, the other stumbles on an uneven stone and falls to the ground, scrambling as he keeps trying to move backwards. Corvo kicks Daud’s sword aside from where he dropped it as he advances, sending it skittering out of reach, Daud’s glance darting to it in desperation as he does.

As he corners Daud Corvo’s own sword comes swinging around before it suddenly halts, only lightly brushing the skin at the side of Daud’s neck. The other flinches and swallows heavily, arching his head as far from the blade as he can, not looking away from Corvo as he does.

            Corvo is breathing heavily as he stares down at the boy lying on the ground before him. In a moment of terrible clarity it comes over him that this is not the flooded district and this is not the Knife of Dunwall. Daud looks up at him with poorly concealed fear and Corvo feels like he is going to be sick.

He stumbles away, dropping his sword as he goes, bringing up a hand to hide his face. He doesn’t know what just came over him but he wants nothing more now than to be as far away from where he is right now as he can be. He may have set his daughter down the path that bloodied her hands so but he refuses to join her on it, he’d decided to spare Daud before, and he doesn’t know why he was so ready to kill him just then.

            Someone has caught up to where he stands and they grab Corvo’s shoulder pulling him further away from Daud. They’re trying to tell him something but he doesn’t hear them, all sound being drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Someone else has picked up his sword from where he dropped it and he feels a pang at the loss. They’re probably not going to give it back.

            Whoever had been trying to talk to him has apparently given up and they hand off Corvo to someone else, Daud has also been hauled to his feet and the two of them are dragged off together. Corvo does not know where they are being taken but numb as he is - still reeling from the unexpected dose of blood thirst - he cannot bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot a fight.   
> I included a bunch more headcanons and tried to downplay the role of OCs, a trend that will likely continue into the next chapters.  
> Writing action/fighting is far more difficult than it should be, but hopefully I pulled it off half-way decently considering I know next to nothing about swords or fighting with them.   
> Consequences and drama will continue in the next chapters wherein the main duo will finally get to talking rather than just hitting each other. 
> 
> Any and all comments welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Oho, first chapter done!  
> If anyone is curious the Corvo in this fic is totally low chaos with the exception of Burrows who he did kill.  
> Emily has gone stealth!high chaos and was a pleasure to write.  
> Jameson Curnow is Geoff Curnow's adopted son from the Corroded man.
> 
> Again any and all advice/comments are appreciated even if (especially if) it's just to point out errs  
> for anyone who wants to know updates can be expected on a bi-weekly basis for the most part


End file.
